


for however short or long our lives are going to be

by majesdane



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-06
Updated: 2009-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Are you ever afraid of yourself?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	for however short or long our lives are going to be

what i see in you lives where i dream, far away from here.  
if you exist, i only know it because i just dreamed it.  
\-- fernando pessoa

 

 

When the woman slides down into a seat in a table across from her, Madeline can't help but stare.

The woman, with her shoulder length hair, almost chocolate-colored in the fading afternoon sunlight, looks down when the waitress steps up to the table to take her order; Madeline notices the small blush that spreads across the unknown woman's face (and then, a moment later, the scars that cut across it, faded to white with age, but still fairly noticeable) when she speaks.

There's something about her -- Madeline can't quite put her finger on it. It feels like she's known this woman before, even though she can't for the life of her recall ever meeting her (and with those sort of scars, Madeline _knows_ she would remember someone like that). But she feels drawn to this strange woman, somehow, and it's what propels her to stand up and walk over.

"Hi," she says, with a slight smile, and the woman looks up with a startled expression on her face and the look in her eyes reminds Madeline of a doe about to bolt.

"Hello," the woman replies back in a cautious tone.

She doesn't offer for Madeline to sit down, but Madeline does it anyway, slipping into the empty seat across the table and folding her hands in front of her, flashing the woman an even wider smile. The woman looks visibly pained by Madeline's presence; she fidgets nervously in her seat, glancing out the window and down at her plate but never once meeting Madeline's eyes.

Undeterred, Madeline says, "Sorry that I'm just barging in on your meal like this, but I have the strangest feeling that I know you from somewhere."

"Oh?" the woman asks weakly, still avoiding her gaze.

"We haven't met before, have we? I feel like I would know if we had. At any rate, I'm Madeline," Madeline sticks her hand out; the woman hesitates before shaking it back, her palm warm and soft, "but you can call me Maddie. All my friends do. Or, well, _used_ to, at any rate, seeing as I haven't actually got any friends now." She falters on the last bit, suddenly embarrassed.

The woman nods. "I'm Claire," she says, after a long pause. "Nice to meet you, uh, Madeline."

Madeline beams back at her.

"Are you sure we haven't met?" she says, after a bit, because she hates long, heavy silences. "I'm sorry if I'm being too forward, but I just can't shake this feeling that I've known you from somewhere before. Like in a past life, maybe." She snorts, waving her hand dismissively.

Claire laughs nervously. "I'm sorry," she says, picking at her salad with her fork, piling the lettuce leaves off to one side. "But I don't know you at all."

Madeline shrugs nonchalantly. "Oh. Sorry to bother you then."

She moves to get up, when Claire's hand suddenly darts forward.

"No, wait," she says, catching Madeline by the wrist. Madeline turns, surprised. Claire flushes again and looks unhappy. "Sorry," she mumbles, retracting her hand a moment later. "I just -- well, maybe I spoke too soon. I mean, you seem . . . familiar to me too. Maybe we . . . maybe we _have_ met before."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Claire says, staring down at her hands in her lap. "I mean, you look like someone I used to know. But, I . . . Well, I don't think you're her. The girl I knew was -- well, it doesn't matter," she says, biting down anxiously on her bottom lip.

Madeline reaches forward slowly, to put a hand on Claire's shoulder; Claire flinches, jerks away.

"Sorry," Madeline murmurs, feeling much less bold now than she did only moments before. "I don't know what came over me. I just feel so . . . _connected_ to you. Somehow. I know it's strange, but -- "

"Please leave," Claire says, in a low, pleading voice, not looking up.

Madeline does.

 

;;

 

There was something about her. Madeline wishes she could figure it out.

 

;;

 

She remembers getting cut across her shoulder, the feeling of the blood as it ran down along her arm, trickling in small, crimson streams. She remembers, too, the bruises on her waist, the marks around her neck, hair on her forehead sticky with blood and sweat.

And after that, there's nothing, except for gentle hands cleaning her wounds, the quiet, consoling voice (a woman, always a woman) letting her know everything was going to be okay, as she winced from the sting of peroxide and her building headache.

Everything's going to be okay, the woman said again, and when Madeline (but it wasn't really _her_ , was it, only a shell of herself) looked up, a lollipop was being offered to her. She remembers the crinkling of the wrapper, the taste (cherry, her favorite) strong and sweet on her tongue. Remembers the smile the woman offered her -- that, and only that, the rest of the woman lost in the recesses of her brain somewhere, locked away in a place she can't get to.

 

;;

 

Madeline thinks she spots Claire again the next day, sitting in a navy blue convertible with the top down, waiting at the traffic light. Madeline, at the curb, has to refrain from shouting out; instead she watches as the light changes from red to green a moment later and the car speeds off, getting lost in the crush of afternoon traffic.

(She can't sleep that night, just tosses and turns and has a recurring dream where she's being choked to death, while a woman's robotic voice intones something about flowers and colors and vases. She wakes up drenched in sweat, the sheets sticking to her bare skin, and her head pounding.)

 

;;

 

She doesn't see Claire for almost a month after that.

It's only walking around the park to clear her head after her meeting with Adelle does Madeline run into her, sitting on a bench and staring at a group of people playing Frisbee on the green. She doesn't turn when Madeline walks up or when Madeline offers a "Hello," and a friendly smile.

"You know," Claire says, after what feels like an infinitely long period of silence. "I'm afraid."

Madeline frowns. "Of what?"

"Everything." Claire toys with the cuff of her sleeve, doing and undoing the button. "All of this right here, it terrifies me. The people, the air, the grass, the traffic. You," she adds after a moment, in a quieter voice.

"If it scares you," Madeline says. "Then why do it? Why come out here? Why not just stay where it makes you feel safe?"

Claire smiles, more to herself than to Madeline. "Because sometimes you need to stop making excuses. Sometimes we have to do things, even if it makes us more afraid. What would that be like, anyway? A life of fear. It doesn't really seem like much of a life at all, to me."

Madeline thinks about Adelle, who released her from her contract a year early without so much as an explanation and showed up a month and four days later out of nowhere. She cared, she said. She was worried. Madeline had never doubted Adelle's true feelings, but she was often suspicious of Adelle's intentions.

"It's okay," she says finally, and without thinking, reaches forward and covers Claire's hand with her own. Claire stiffens visibly at the contact, but then relaxes somewhat a moment later, with a sigh. "We're all afraid, sometimes."

"Are you ever afraid of yourself?" Claire asks, turning and fixing Madeline in an intense stare.

"All the time," Madeline says, surprised at her own words.

 

;;

 

I like you, a voice said, smooth and low. Cheerful. Like a child's voice, almost, but not quite. More like an adult mimicking a child. We're friends, aren't we?

Friends spend time together, Madeline feels herself saying, even if it's not really _her_ that's saying it. Someone else is in her body, is using her voice, pretending to be her. Her mind feels fuzzy and closed off, like being drunk, almost, and the thought makes her laugh because there's no alcohol in the --

You're my friend, the voice says, and then there is a hand sliding into Madeline's own; someone is intertwining their fingers, pressing their palms flat together, and Madeline feels very warm and safe all of a sudden, like every bad thought or feeling she ever had has just been erased away.

She looks up, into warm brown eyes. Feels her lips curve up into a smile.

 

;;

 

They meet again, this time at a club.

Madeline's not usually into this sort of thing, but she hasn't been out, not _properly_ anyway, since she'd left the Dollhouse and moved into her penthouse. The throbbing bass hurts her ears and the flashing lights make her dizzy and her eyes water. She manages to get to the bar; she order three appletinis and knocks them all back in a matter of seconds, licking her lips and tasting the sweet flavor on her tongue.

(It reminds her of -- )

And then there's Claire, suddenly, somehow, standing beside her, nursing an amber colored drink that Madeline recognizes but can't quite place.

"Oh," Madeline says quietly, and even though Claire couldn't have possibly heard her, she turns anyway.

Their eyes meet and something unspoken passes between them; Madeline's heart suddenly skips to beating double time in her chest, and her legs feel weak, like they won't work right if she tries to walk. Claire nudges her drink aside, straightening up. Her hand slips silently into Madeline's, and --

(She _knows_ Claire from before, she must, this is just too -- )

\-- pulls Madeline out onto the dance floor.

 

;;

 

When Claire kisses her -- just knits her fingers into Madeline's blouse and pulls her in, beneath the flashing yellow and red and blue lights and in the middle of the dance floor; it's so unexpected -- she tastes bitter, like whatever drink she was having earlier. Falling away, Madeline licks her lips, stares at Claire, feels her face grow hot and is thankful that the club's too dark for Claire to see her blush.

Claire ducks away then, before Madeline can speak, disappearing into the crowd without an explanation or a backwards glance.

 _Whiskey_ , Madeline thinks, and it's like remembering a dream in the early light of morning, the memory still fresh in her brain but growing clearer as the effects of sleep fade away. _Whiskey_. It's as strong in her mind now as anything else, real and insistent. She tries to recall what it means.

(She can't.)

 

;;

 

She doesn't see Claire again, after that.


End file.
